Breach of Power (Jake Pendleton 3) Read online

  "Look like about 450. Is that okay?"

  "That's good. Let's go."

  "Can we leave the tools here?"

  "Well, I'm sure as Hell not hauling them up and down each time. Just leave them on top of the plate, they'll be here when we get back."

  Regan followed Christa up the same line they came down. At twenty feet, they did a precautionary five-minute safety stop to allow extra time for absorbed nitrogen from the compressed air to be released by their bodies. After the five minute interval, they headed for the surface. Her mask broke the surface. The woman and her deck boat were gone. She was startled by what she saw next. The fisherman who had been next to them in the cove was sitting on the deck of their Bayliner, his bass boat anchored next to hers.

  She swam over to the platform and the man extended his arm in assistance. "Who the hell are you?"

  "Hey, you're the guy from the Pizza Place last night." Christa shouted.

  "That's right. My name is Jake Pendleton."

  "Well, Jake Pendleton, what the hell are you doing on my boat?" Regan shouted.

  After Christa said it, Regan recognized the man from the restaurant. She looked up at the man, early to mid thirties, dirty blond hair, well built, and handsome. He had captivating blue eyes and gentleman's demeanor. She extended her arm and allowed him to help her onboard.

  "Ms. Regan, Ms. Barnett, we need to talk."

  36

  Jake helped Ashley Regan out of the water and extended an arm to Christa Barnett. "Why don't you take those dry suits off before we talk?" He noticed Regan give him a funny look. "Or don't. But I guarantee you'll overheat."

  "Why are you here?" She demanded. "And how do you know our names?"

  He helped Barnett onboard and walked from the swim platform to the deck. "Your lives are in danger."

  "What the hell are you talking about, mister?" Barnett was almost yelling. "No one's trying to kill us…except maybe you. What are you, some kind of stalker? Have you been following us since last night?"

  "You saw the woman on the deck boat earlier?"

  "The one who went swimming?" Regan said. "What about her?"

  "She and I are here for the same reason. The big difference is I won't kill you to get it."

  "Won't kill me to get what?"

  "The book."

  Regan felt dizzy when he mentioned the book. How could anyone possibly know about it? "What book?" She asked.

  "The book you found in the glacier." Jake noticed Barnett move.

  The small woman charged at Jake with a boat hook. "Get him, Ashley." She yelled.

  He sidestepped her approach, grabbed the boat hook with one hand and threw her overboard with the other. He looked back at Regan. "Don't even try it," he warned. He pointed his finger at Barnett while she swam back to the swim platform. "You can come back onboard if you can behave yourself, otherwise stay in the water." He turned back to Regan and pointed to a deck chair. "Take that suit off and sit down."

  She did as he instructed. Barnett crawled back on the swim platform and pulled off her dry suit. She took a seat beside Regan.

  "While you two were in the water, that woman swam over here and rummaged through your boat." He studied Regan's face as he spoke. Not a flinch. A good poker face, he thought. "So if the book was on this boat, it isn't anymore."

  Still nothing.

  "Where is the book, Ms. Regan?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about," she insisted.

  "Okay. We can play this game all day but that won't get you any closer to Norman Reese Jr.'s casket. Eight bolts holding a steel plate to a cement vault." He noticed Regan look at him. "Yeah, I know. I've already checked it out and I know why you're here and what you're after."

  "We don't know what you're talking about. Do we, Ashley?" Barnett said.

  Jake pointed his finger at Barnett. "Tell you what. You don't say another word unless you want to go swimming again." He turned to Regan and put out his hand. "The book."

  Nothing.

  "Ms. Regan, let me tell you how much trouble you're already in with the law." He glanced at Barnett. "This goes for you as well. Numerous counts of felonious grave robbery, theft, willful destruction of private property, and that's just for starters. The list goes on. But if you turn over the book, no charges will be filed and this ends here. Shall I continue?"

  "Are you a cop?" Barnett asked.

  "No. If I were a cop, you two would be in handcuffs and I'd be hauling your asses off to jail."

  "If you're not a cop," Regan finally spoke, "then who do you work for?"

  "I handle special assignments as inconspicuously as possible."

  "What? Are you like some kind of spy or something?" Barnett asked.

  "No. I'm not a spy. But, I do work for a company who gets its contracts from the government. I have access to the highest levels of intelligence. Here's what I know. And keep in mind that I'm one of the good guys. Ms. Regan, you and your roommate Samantha Connors were hiking in Southern Germany when you found the remains of a soldier from World War II inside an ice cavern in a glacier. You also found a book he had with him when he disappeared in 1946. I'll spare you the details of the contents of the book, you already know because your friend here is well versed in German and translated it for you."

  The two women looked at each other.

  "After you robbed the cemetery in your home town of Charleston, we captured you on a traffic cam video, including the license plate of your rented Impala and two perfect infrared mug shots. I went to Charleston, to your house, but someone had already been there. Someone who was obviously looking for something and didn't find it. Your house was ransacked. No sign of Ashley Regan or Samantha Connors."

  "My house was broken into?"

  Jake nodded.

  "Sam?"

  Jake recognized the concern. "You don't know where she is?"

  Nothing.

  "Dammit. This is no time for games. These people play for keeps. Her life might already be in jeopardy."

  Regan started crying.

  "Where is the book? Did the woman get it?"

  Regan shook her head then held her palms to her face.

  "Is it at the Crooked Moose Lodge in Banner Elk?"

  She looked up at him. He saw the surprise in her eyes. "No," she said, "it's safe."

  "Tell me where it is. I can protect you." He looked at Barnett. "Both of you."

  She wiped the tears from her eyes and pulled her shoulders back. "No. Not until Christa and I get what we came for," Regan said. "Help us get into this casket, and I'll give you the book."

  "No deal. Give me the book so I can get both of you out of here and into protective custody."

  "You help us open the casket and you can have the book." Her tone indicated her desire to negotiate. "No criminal charges. We get to keep what's inside. And you leave us alone."

  "Something you need to know about the woman who was here. She's a hired assassin. I don't know where she went, but you can bet if she doesn't have the book she's coming back." Jake explained. "When she does, she will kill you." He paused to let his words sink in. "She might not be alone either."

  "More the reason we need your help. We can't get the bolts loose. You're stronger. You can do it faster." Regan said. "With your help, we can open the casket, get what we came for, and be out of here before she gets back."

  "And if she shows up?" Jake questioned. "With reinforcements?"

  Regan shrugged her shoulders but said nothing.

  "We're all dead. That's what happens. And she'll have your treasure…and the book."

  "Then you can't let that happen, can you?" Regain said. "We need to get back down there now and get back to work."

  He studied the two women for a tell. Anything that might giveaway the location of the book. A pat of the hand or a glance of the eyes. A shrug or a slight nod. Anything. But neither woman gave anything away. Their poker faces were on.

  Together, Regan and Barnett's resolve was strong. He knew he could haul them
in and try to force them to talk, but that was another delay. A delay his gut told him he couldn't afford. Instinctively he knew there were larger, more important issues at stake than just Ashley Regan and the contents of Norman Reese's grave. Issues that affected President Rebecca Rudd.

  Jake knew what was in the casket and so did Regan. Neither Wiley nor Rudd wanted criminal charges filed against the women, and probably could care less about what happened to the casket's contents, as long as Jake contained the situation.

  "I don't like it. I think we're putting ourselves in unnecessary danger, but I'll do it your way. However, you don't get what's in the casket until the book is in my possession. Understood?"

  "Deal."

  37

  Maybe it was all the Clive Cussler books he'd read over the past twenty years, but the whole idea of a hidden treasure submerged under sixty feet of water was intriguing. Too intriguing to pass up. Even though it meant disturbing another grave, Jake yearned to see it with his own eyes. An excitement he wasn't sure he could describe in words, not unlike the thrill he had as a child when he ran out on Christmas morning to see what Santa Claus left him under the tree. The allure of treasure was overwhelming even if he already knew what it was.

  Jake made the women wait an hour to off-gas and rehydrate. While he waited he wondered when Abigail Love would return. It wasn't a matter of if, but when.

  He was always amazed how spending so much time in the water would deplete your body of water. He pulled his dive equipment from the bow hatch on his bass boat and geared up while the women did the same. After he checked and double-checked his dive gear, he slipped into the water and waited on the women.

  He sent Barnett down the line first, followed by Regan. That way he could keep them both in sight during the descent. He wasn't sure whether or not he could trust Regan; she could be setting him up for a double-cross. He knew he didn't trust Barnett. Proceeding under that line of reasoning kept him on his guard.

  Two things were different than when he was down here last night. One, he could see the brown environment without his dive light. He could make out the slope of the bottom. Just above the metal grave capstone was the upright stone marker the line was tied to. Slightly up from it was the cut off tree. And second, he rotated his head from side to side, the monster catfish was gone.

  Barnett secured Regan's BCD to a five-foot umbilical she'd evidently used on their previous dive. With Regan's lack of underwater experience, Jake thought it was a good idea to keep the woman as relaxed as possible in the unfamiliar environment.

  He looked at Regan and Barnett and could tell they were talking to him. He motioned to his ears and watched the epiphany flash across their faces as they realized he couldn't hear them talking. Lying on top of the metal plate were three tools, a crowbar, a large adjustable plumber's wrench, and a mallet. He looked at the bolts and could see the fresh scarring on the bolt heads from the wrench.

  He released the remaining air from his BCD and descended to the bottom, he would need all the weight he could get for leverage. He grabbed the wrench, slipped it over the first bolt, tightened its jaws around the hexagonal bolt head, and tugged.

  Nothing.

  Without hesitation, he grabbed the mallet and pounded it against the wrench. As it impacted the handle of the wrench, he saw the bolt turn. It turned noticeably with each additional smack. He glanced at Regan, her eyes told him she was smiling. It was slow progress but after five minutes, the first bolt was loose enough for Jake to remove using only the wrench.

  He removed two more bolts and checked his computer and air gauge. Using hand signals, he motioned with a balled fist thumb sticking up followed by cupping his hands together. "Go up to the boat," was the signal. Barnett led the way, followed by Regan and Jake.

  Back on board after the safety stop, Jake fired up the air compressor and refilled the tanks. He grabbed a double tank harness and rigged his regulator for a two-tank dive.

  * * *

  Like most men, he figured, he had his routines. Unless White House duties hindered, which they often did, every weekday, rain, snow, or shine, Evan Makley went to the Starbucks on the corner of K Street and 16th Street NW to grab a bite to eat from the bakery and a large cup of House Blend coffee. It was a short three-block stroll through Lafayette Park and up 16th Street. He enjoyed the daily respite from his White House office.

  Now, more than ever.

  After Elmore Wiley's team uncovered his clandestine meetings with Abigail Love, Rudd had all but formally removed him from White House business. The Executive Secretary to the President had assumed most of his job functions.

  President Rebecca Rudd had given him 48 hours to tender his resignation—a timeline that was drawing near. He'd done everything he could think of to warrant a reprieve, but nothing seemed to work. He had fully disclosed every detail about his involvement with Abigail Love. He'd called off the hit on Jake Pendleton. But first he'd warned Love on her Gmail account.

  All this trouble because he was trying to save President Rebecca Rudd from a scandal that would certainly oust her from office. In a sense, he was the Good Samaritan. He didn't deserve everything that was happening to him. Rudd was going to make him a scapegoat.

  Rudd had scheduled a one-on-one meeting with him for this afternoon. It might be his last chance to salvage his career. The past three years had been, without a doubt, the worst of his life. He was kicked out of his home, lost his wife, custody of his children, and most of his money and possessions. His face had been plastered over all the national media outlets. He was disgraced on television, the news, in the papers, magazines, and even Talk Radio.

  Rudd stood by him during all that.

  Why not now?

  Makley cleared the security gate on Pennsylvania Avenue, crossed the barricaded street, and entered Lafayette Park when the answer occurred to him. He would use what he knew to blackmail the President if he had to. He'd tell her the truth, how her days as President were over unless she withdrew her demands for his resignation and gave him another chance. He could regain her trust.

  As he approached the equestrian statue of Andrew Jackson in the middle of the park, he noticed several children playing tag. Oh, to be young and innocent again.

  Suddenly he felt a crushing blow to the chest followed by the sound of a firecracker. His legs faltered like someone had stripped the bones out of them. He fell to his seat but remained upright. He heard faint sounds of kids screaming. His eyes lost focus as everything blurred and the sounds faded. Something was sucking the life out of him. Was this what a heart attack felt like? His chin fell. He looked at his chest; his pressed blue dress shirt was red. What was happening?

  Movement caught his eyes. He glanced up and saw mothers and fathers running toward their children, scooping them in their arms, and carrying them away.

  Another blow to the chest.

  Another firecracker.

  Evan Makley fell over and watched as a river of blood flowed across the sidewalk in front of his eyes.

  The bright, sunny day grew dimmer.

  His mouth filled with blood.

  He spit and gasped for air.

  Nothing came.

  * * *

  Abigail Love swore she would never do this again, but she saw no other way. She put the regulator in her mouth and slipped in the water.

  Three years ago while deep reef diving in the Turks and Caicos Islands, her regulator separated from her mouthpiece as she exhaled at a depth of sixty feet. She kept her mouth closed so saltwater wouldn't fill her mouth. With no air in her lungs and no way to breath, she panicked. In her terror, she'd forgotten about her integrated backup regulator until the arm of her dive buddy reached out and shoved it in her mouth. She was still shaking when she surfaced ten minutes later. She called off the rest of her dives that trip and vowed never to scuba dive again.

  Until now.

  When she arrived this morning at the cove, the women were in their boat donning their scuba equipment while a man was
in the distance fishing in his small bass boat. She observed both boats under the pretense of sunbathing. It worked. The women paid her no attention and continued their dive preparations without interruptions. She did get a kick out of the fisherman stealing glances after she removed her tunic revealing her bikini. Typical male, she thought, always thinking of one thing. Or maybe two—tits and ass.

  After the two women had been underwater for ten minutes, she swam to their boat and rummaged though the cabin, under every cushion, in every cubby and storage, and through the women's personal belongings. No book. She heard the faint echo of banging under the water and felt the vibration through the boat's hull. She made the decision to return and eliminate the friend and capture Ashley Regan. She would torture her until she relinquished the book.

  It took her almost two hours to find suitable dive equipment in the small town of Butler, but she managed, as she always did. A lesson she learned long ago, anything could be bought if the price was right.

  When she returned, she anchored her boat on the opposite side of a point separating the cove from the main section of the lake, which meant an underwater swim of three hundred yards. She was in excellent physical shape and knew it would not be a problem after she descended in the water.

  She kicked to the edge of the point and watched as the two women dove into the water. There was something more troubling though; the fisherman had joined them. She noticed the small bass boat was anchored next to the larger boat and realized the fisherman must be the man from Charleston, Jake Pendleton.

  This was unexpected. Despite what Makley ordered, Pendleton would die along with Regan's friend.

  After the three submerged, Love pulled out her dive computer with an integrated compass and took a bearing to the spot where they dove. 160 degrees. While she descended toward the bottom, she set her timer and tracked the bearing toward the spot. If her calculations were correct, a hard kick at 2 MPH should get her close in five minutes.